


Shiver

by micehell



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: AU (sort of TPM/JA characters fused into a (mostly) ANH plotline), Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiver

Obi-Wan watched Owen and Beru head back into the house, almost calling them back. Something had been gnawing away at the pit of his stomach all day, and he had a bad feeling about... well, something. But then he shook his head at himself, sure that Owen would just tell him it was his overactive imagination, as always. And it wasn't like Obi-Wan really believed something was likely to happen out here in what had to be the most middle of nowhere spot on Tatooine.

Regardless of what Teacher Dyas sometimes hinted at when he talked about the future, Obi-Wan knew he was far more likely to grow old and crazy out here with the Jawas and the droids, trying to cultivate water out of air that barely had any, than he was to live a life of adventure. In his eighteen years, the most exciting place Obi-Wan had ever been was Mos Eisley, and even to his farm-bred eyes it was a little lacking.

He herded the droids that Owen had bought from the Jawas inside the tool shed, ignoring the bad feeling that followed him even there.

~*~

Lord Xanatos stepped over the burning husks of people who had probably not even been worth killing, enjoyable as he was sure it had been for his troopers, intent on seeing the prize they had caught instead. Xanatos felt him before he saw him, a siren call in the Force even with the suppression cuffs that had been locked around his wrists.

He’d known his former master for years (and knew far too well what the man's tastes were, as much as it hurt Xanatos' pride to admit it), but even with that, he was still not prepared for the actual sight of the prize. A pretty, pretty flower blooming in the nearly barren wastes that made up the Force-forsaken place his master had holed up in. Xanatos didn't believe for a moment the boy had been bred from scum that Tatooine was known for.

A trooper approached Xanatos and bowed. "Lord Xanatos. He had the droids we'd been informed of in the shed, but the information they were supposed to contain is missing. He must have already removed it and sent it on, but he won't tell us where."

Xanatos approached the boy, pleased at the defiance on the pretty face and the fear in his eyes. But both defiance and fear melted into confusion when Xanatos asked, "Where's your master?"

The trooper beside him held out a blaster that's charge had been disbursed, good only for a mild burn instead of the normal searing of flesh the weapon did. There were burns on the boy's arm from where they'd already been using it, but Xanatos waved it away, not needing such crude tools to cause pain.

He leaned in close so that the bulk of his armor would be even more intimidating and the hiss of his respirator would almost vibrate against the boy's lips as he said, "Qui-Gon was always so taken with the prophecy of the Chosen One. I knew he'd keep searching even after the Jedi Order fell. I knew he'd find some poor fool to play the part even while he played hide and seek with me."

With hands that had once been graceful before they'd burned, before they always had to be encased in gloves to protect them (to distance him), he traced the pretty bow of the boy's lip, felt it trembling a little now that fear was in ascendancy. He could smell that fear with the new body Dooku had forged for him all those years ago, and behind his mask he smiled at it. "I played a part for Qui-Gon once, and the payment I received for it was an acid bath when I didn't please him anymore. It would be a shame if a face as pretty as yours paid such a price, don't you think?"

But no matter how many times Xanatos asked, no matter how Xanatos wielded the Force with a skill and cruelty learned from both his masters respectively, the only answer he had from the boy was screamed denial and unwilling tears.

~*~

Obi-Wan woke in a room that was completely white; the stark, windowless walls, the trooper who stood guard by the door, the cot he lay on that was the only furniture in the room, and the thin tunic and pants that were all he wore except the suppression cuffs on his wrists that left him oddly cold and empty. It was nowhere that he'd ever been, and nowhere that he wanted to be now. The only clues he had were that the cot vibrated softly beneath him with the thrum of some distant engine and that the air was cool and filtered in a way that Tatooine never was, meaning that he was on a ship of some type.

He felt like curling up and crying, and it was only his last shred of pride in not wanting the trooper to see him do it that kept the tears back, but even then it was a near thing. His day had started out so normally, only that niggling bad feeling he'd had to hint that it wouldn't be just like every other day he'd ever known. But even if he'd told Owen, and even if he'd believed in the bad feeling, Obi-Wan couldn't see how the day would have ended in any way that didn't leave Owen and Beru dead, the life he'd always known (that he'd thought he'd always live) burned to ash with them. Even the nightmare of their burned bodies, of being tortured in the house that had once been home and comfort, was swallowed in the greater nightmare of everything he'd ever even known being reduced to the claustrophobic, alien _whiteness_ around him.

Teacher Dyas had always told him that when things went wrong, he should focus on what he was doing, not on what _might_ happen, but right now Teacher Dyas was a lost life away from Obi-Wan. Even though asking the trooper where they were would likely only get him either silence or more pain, Obi-Wan found not knowing _something_ about where he had been taken was worse, so even though his voice was hoarse and little more than a whisper, he took the chance. "Where is this place?"

"The Death Star."

It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize that was all the answer he was going to get. It was about as helpful as being told _somewhere you've never heard of and have no clue about_ , and it didn't make the feeling of wanting to cry abate any, but the ridiculousness of the name cut across it. Not sure if the feeling bubbling inside him was amusement or hysteria, Obi-Wan bit his lip, trying to keep the tears and laughter and fear and anger from spilling out of him until there was nothing left but a shell as empty as the room.

The door hissing open didn't quell the feeling, but the droid that entered did. Black armor with glittering chrome arms ending in syringes, knives, and probes; it held still in the doorway for an moment, a palpable menace in its stillness and in its obvious purpose.

Obi-Wan, past pride now, tried to tell the trooper, the droid, the broken whiteness of the room, that he didn't have a master and never had, that he'd no more heard of Qui-Gon than he had the Death Star, but none of them listened, and the sound of the door hissing closed was drowned in the sound of Obi-Wan's screams as the droid tried to carve another answer out of him.

~*~

Qui-Gon had to bend a little to pass through the low door of the cantina, but he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble even as he did it. Mos Eisley was trouble even in its better quarters, and this part of town certainly didn't qualify as better. But Qui-Gon couldn't afford the attention he'd get in the relative safety of the higher class bars, and what he was looking for would never be there anyway. Not these days, anyway.

He finally spotted him in the corner of the room, back to a wall, a hand hidden under the table along with the blaster Qui-Gon could guess was pointing at him. Qui-Gon nodded his head as he approached, showing none of his unease in the face of Mace's cool indifference. "It's been a long time."

Mace shrugged one shoulder. "Not long enough."

Qui-Gon sighed, wishing not for the first time that he could go back in time. Back to when there still was a Jedi Order, and he could treat the Council with the respect they'd deserved. He wished he could go back before he'd been so sure he was right, so sure that it was _he_ that understood the prophecy of the Chosen One, and that it was _he_ who'd found him even though the others had all warned him. It was only when he had wound up facing Xanatos in battle, his apprentice full of anger and pride, that Qui-Gon realized his mistake, but by then it was too late.

It was certainly too late now to make pleasant small talk with a man who'd been a little too fond of his dignity even before he'd had it taken from him by Xanatos and Dooku, and a little too prone to _I told you so_ before he'd had even half as much right to say it as he did now. So Qui-Gon got straight to the point. "I need your help, Mace."

Mace rolled his eyes, and said, "Of course you do. Let me guess, this has something to do with the secret Imperial project I've been hearing about all over town. And, knowing you, probably some child you’re sure is the Chosen One, too. I can save you the trouble of asking, because I'm not interested."

Qui-Gon had known this would be a hard sell. He'd also known he was fighting against the clock, and the impatience he usually kept under tight control was threatening to spill out of him in the form of a fist to Mace's smugly disapproving expression. But even though he couldn't see her, Qui-Gon knew Mace's co-pilot was nearby somewhere, and the Tolothian was far too good a shot and far too likely to take it if Qui-Gon did anything rash. "I'm not sure if I even believe in the prophecy anymore, actually, but while I know that no amount of apologizing for my blindness over Xanatos is ever going to atone for what happened, this really is important, Mace. To all of us. Even Yoda."

And Yoda was the magic card, because even though what few Jedi that had escaped the Purge had mainly wound up either retreating to the middle of nowhere, as Qui-Gon had, or had taken to living life outside the Empire's eyes and laws, as Mace and Adi had, all of them had stayed in contact with Yoda, the one last thread that tied them together. So even though his face stayed sour, Mace signaled to Adi to come over, making room for both her and Qui-Gon at the table.

Qui-Gon had never been part of the Rebellion, even though Yoda had many ties to it, but he'd done odd jobs for them over the year. When Yoda had contacted him about the Death Star and what disaster it could spell for everyone, Qui-Gon had been more than willing to help, even knowing it might catch more of his former apprentice's attention than he wanted. He told Mace, "But something went wrong," and Mace nodded, smiling at Qui-Gon for the first time in decades, answering with bemused acceptance. "Of course it did. You were involved."

Adi didn't smile, as serenely dignified now as she ever had been sitting on the Council, but she nodded her acceptance to whatever Mace decided to do, and Mace nodded at Qui-Gon. "I take it the plan is to retrieve the blueprints for this Death Star and get them to the Rebellion? And that it probably involves risking my ship and my crew in some impossible _storm the castle_ type of ploy that will likely get us all killed instead?"

Qui-Gon wished he could say it was more complicated than that, but Mace always had had a way with reducing things to the pertinent points, and the details he'd left out could wait until they were underway, when Mace would be less likely to balk at what he heard. So Qui-Gon just nodded and asked, "How soon can we leave?"

~*~

When the door opened the next time, it let in five troopers with orders to bring him to the bridge. Through the open door were the hallways of the vast ship that lay beyond his tiny cell, and part of Obi-Wan wanted to see it, even knowing that it was unlikely anything good was waiting. He just wanted to orient himself, to figure out where he was in a galaxy that seemed entirely foreign to him now. But even breathing hurt by that time, and walking was nearly beyond him, so all he could do was let the troopers grab his arms and pull him along behind them, propping him up to stand shakily on his own feet when they reached the bridge.

Lord Xanatos was there, playing some kind of power game with a Neimoidian wearing an Imperial Governor's uniform. They both ignored Obi-Wan as they wrangled over the capabilities of what turned out to be a battle station rather than a ship.

The governor was brusque with Xanatos in a way Obi-Wan figured not many people would dare to be. "Until construction of this battle station is completed, we're potentially vulnerable. _You_ need to make sure those plans don't make it into the Rebellion's hands."

There was silence for a moment, until the governor started to twitch under the weight and threat of it, not as indifferent to the danger Xanatos represented as he'd seemed to be. But then Xanatos gave a slight bow of his head. "Of course, Governor Gunray. But I begin to believe the boy isn't lying, and that the blueprints might only be some kind of ruse. There is one way to be sure."

Xanatos grabbed the cuffs on Obi-Wan's wrists, making them dig into Obi-Wan's flesh as he pulled him close. Even filtered through the electronics that produced it, there was no mistaking the threat in his voice when he said, "I'm generously giving you one last chance. For the sake of the millions of... _innocent_ people on Tatooine, tell me where your master is. Tell me where Qui-Gon is hiding, or Tatooine will learn first hand the power of this Death Star."

Obi-Wan had spent a large part of his life either bored by or hating Tatooine, and most of the people living there were thieves in one way or another, or worse, but even so he didn't want them to be attacked by an Imperial battle station just because Lord Xanatos wouldn't believe the truth. Even if he'd been lying before, he'd tell the truth to keep that from happening, so he put every bit of sincerity he could muster into his voice when he said, "I have no master. Until I met you, I thought the Force was just a myth; some hokey old time religion that no one believed in anymore. I have never even heard of anyone named Qui-Gon, let alone know where he might be hiding. I would have told you already, back before you... I would have told you. I'd tell you now."

He held his breath as Xanatos leaned in even closer, and then released it on a sigh when he pulled away, saying to the governor, "He's telling the truth. And since the droids had no blueprints on them, the rebels must not have managed to pass the information along. We've come to this Force-forsaken world for nothing."

Gunray shrugged, an unamused smile splitting his pasty face. He turned to the crew and waved a careless hand. "Start the firing sequence."

Obi-Wan tried to turn to him, but he was held back by Xanatos' hold on the cuffs. He looked up into that dark mask, trying to read some kind of reason in it. "You said I was telling the truth! Why are you going ahead with the attack?"

Xanatos gave nothing back, not even a sign he'd heard, but Gunray answered. "You were too naive in believing we'd let Tatooine go in the first place. It's a planet of little concern to the Empire, little more than a hideout for scum and villains, and it'll make a good test run for this station. And once the other systems see exactly what the Death Star is capable of, none of them will dare lend the rebels a hand again."

Obi-Wan could see Tatooine on the screen of the viewport, looking serene and surprisingly beautiful as the double suns of the system glinted gold against the visible line of its atmosphere. Even as the massive gun of the station fired on it, Obi-Wan didn't truly understand what was happening; not until the gun flared with explosive brightness, not until he saw the planet rock with it, splitting apart, burning away to ash just as Owen and Beru had done. He could hear them screaming, could feel all of them screaming as everything died, and all he could do was scream with them.

He would have fallen to the floor, too lost to stand, but Xanatos' hold on the cuffs held him up, pulled him up until Xanatos filled his entire field of vision. "You could feel their deaths even through the suppression cuffs. You might have believed the Force was a myth, but you were always in its hold. Always in its hold."

The words were almost a whisper, almost a promise, and nothing that Obi-Wan wanted to know. With no knowledge that they needed and not even a planet to go back to, Gunray should have no use for him anymore and would likely order his execution.

Obi-Wan could only hope that it was soon.

~*~

Adi had taken the details of the plan stoically enough, simply scanning the copilot's board with her usual aplomb, but Mace had, as predicted, tried to balk. They were still arguing about it when they felt the world they'd just left die; the shudder of the ship as debris hit them even this far out and millions of voices screaming in the Force, something they'd only felt the like of once before in their lives.

Mace didn't say _I told you so_ after that. He didn't remind Qui-Gon that all of this might have been prevented if he'd just considered someone's counsel but his own, if he'd just listened to Yoda, far older and wiser, even if he'd still ignored everyone else. The only thing Mace said was, "Adi, engage the cloak. We don't know the full capabilities of this thing besides it has enough fire power to destroy a planet. No sense running the risk that their scanners are better than we think. We're already running enough risk just trying to find a way into the damn thing."

~*~

Back in his cell, Xanatos stood out against all the white; black armor and seeming to fill up all of the tiny space. Obi-Wan tried to stand as far away from him as he could, but there was nowhere to escape.

Not from any of it.

Xanatos pulled off his gloves and showed him the ruined flesh beneath them. Someone had layered pseudoskin over what had obviously been burned flesh beneath it, but they'd simply made the hands bigger than they'd been, gnarled and mottled like the monsters Owen used to tell Obi-Wan about when he was young.

When Xanatos started talking, it was casually, as if they were having tea and catching each other up on what had been happening in their lives. "I was as beautiful as you once, years ago. But Qui-Gon still rejected me. He blamed the Jedi Code, the master-apprentice bond, everything he could think of besides the fact he just didn't want me. Eventually... he admitted even that. A shame, really, since I might have almost forgiven him for the life I gave up when I followed him to the Jedi if he hadn't betrayed me like that. You, though, would most definitely have been his type. The pretty eyes, the pretty hair, the pretty accent that sounds almost like his own. You look nothing like the natives of Tatooine, sound nothing like them. That's why I'd been so sure Qui-Gon was your master, even when you'd screamed he wasn't."

The hands reached out towards Obi-Wan's face, but he jerked his head away, not having needed the reminder of the pain they'd already caused. Before Xanatos could say anything else Obi-Wan told him, "Whatever is between you and this Qui-Gon, it has nothing to do with me. None of this has anything to do with me."

Xanatos laughed at that, sharp like a bark through the filter of the mask, but there was nothing of amusement in it. One hand reached out again, grabbing Obi-Wan's chin when he tried to turn away. "You're right. None of this had anything to do with you. And if I were a better person, someone like Qui-Gon had wanted me to be, I'd let you go with an apology for what I'd done. If I were even a half-way decent person, I might kill you now, cleanly. But then if I were even more of a bastard, like my Emperor is, I'd take you as an apprentice and remake you in my own image."

The laugh came again, softer this time, as Xanatos pulled the cuffs on Obi-Wan's wrists up, pressing them hard into the wall at his back. "Instead I'm just cruel enough to keep you, and definitely cruel enough to fuck you because it amuses me to think how much Qui-Gon would hate it. Because one day, perhaps years from now, when I'm tired of you, and my men are tired of you, and there's nothing left of the pretty boy that Qui-Gon would have loved except an empty shell, it amuses me to think of him finding you and knowing that I had been there first."

The hand let go of Obi-Wan's chin, reaching down to tear at his tunic and pants, easily turning aside Obi-Wan's panicked attempt to stop him. He threw Obi-Wan down on the cot, holding him there with the Force Obi-Wan wished had stayed a myth, his breath through the mask fast and heavy as he pulled aside the armor that covered his groin, pulled down the cloth behind it. The cock underneath was long and thick and already hard, strangely normal against the monster's hands that stroked it, against the black armor that framed it and the tiny white cell barely visible behind him as he pushed Obi-Wan into the cot below them.

Obi-Wan's legs were spread wide, his knees forced up, the hold on them hard on his joints and back, burning muscles that had already been strained and damaged from the attack at the farm, from the droid's interrogation. The armor Xanatos had loosened hung loose, cutting into Obi-Wan's thigh, digging deep as Xanatos’s weight bore down on him. But all of it was nothing to the pain of the monster tearing into him with that still human cock.

Back when his life had been his own, Obi-Wan had always thought he didn't really have any choices. He'd been stuck on the farm because he had nowhere else to go and no money to go there. He'd been stuck with Owen and Beru because they were the ones willing to take him in when he'd been so young he couldn't even remember it and no one else had apparently wanted him. He'd been stuck with Teacher Dyas because there was no other teacher to be had and no one else besides Owen, Beru, and the odd droid to talk to in the long days between visits to town.

It had been his life, but he had never had a choice. Or so he'd thought until Xanatos taught him what no choice really felt like. Then he realized how many choices he'd had: what dreams to have, how he lived the life he might not have chosen but hadn't really not chosen either, who he spent time with and who he shared his body with. He'd even had the choice to die if he'd wanted.

Obi-Wan fought because it was the only (useless) choice Xanatos had left to him. He fought the hold on his arms, the weight that held him down, the cut of the armor into his flesh, and the humiliation and pain as Xanatos did what he wanted. There were no questions this time, no hope that if he could just get someone to believe him that it all might stop. Even as he felt Xanatos come inside him, he knew it wasn't over.

He wasn't even given time to hope it might be, Xanatos rolling him over, pushing his face down into the cot while pulling him up on his knees, blood and semen trailing wet and cold down his thighs and Xanatos' burning deep inside him again. He couldn't breath, the weight on his back pressing what small amount of air he could get out of him, and he thought he could die, but he wasn't given time to hope for that, either. Those gnarled hands sharply tangled in his hair, pulling his head back until he thought his neck would snap, and there was nothing Obi-Wan could do to stop his lungs from desperately pulling in air. His own harsh breathing was drowned in the echo of Xanatos' heavy breathing against the white walls of the room, the hiss of his respirator loud against Obi-Wan's ears.

It was during the third time, Obi-Wan's bound arms draped around Xanatos' armored body, his ass in Xanatos' lap, a parody of intimacy that hurt no less than before, that Xanatos started talking again. Mostly to himself, broken sentences full of _so good_ and _I love it when you fight me_ that he gasped out in Obi-Wan's face, the heated air escaping his mask to blow over Obi-Wan's closed eyes. When Obi-Wan tried to pull back as far as he could, Xanatos scratched broken nails down his back; when Obi-Wan stopped fighting, voice and body exhausted, Xanatos slid one of those ruined fingers up into Obi-Wan’s ass with his cock, then another, no longer giving him a choice even in that.

A trooper entered the cell during that third time, standing to the side to patiently wait for Xanatos to acknowledge him. Xanatos didn't react to his entry verbally, but he did slow down his pace, making a show of what he was doing, a hand moving to Obi-Wan's hair again, holding his head back so that Obi-Wan couldn’t hide any of himself from the trooper’s watchful eyes.

Eventually Xanatos sighed, "Duty calls." He slipped his arms under Obi-Wan's knees and then stood, slamming Obi-Wan's back against the wall and driving into him with hard, brutal thrusts that made him cry out again, even though his throat was scraped raw.

When Xanatos finally came, he held still for a moment, finally softening, but making no move to pull out. He let go of one of Obi-Wan's legs, letting it drop to kick listlessly at him, using the freed hand to trace along Obi-Wan's lips, across his closed eyes. "So very pretty when you cry," is all he said, though, before he finally let Obi-Wan go, dropping him back on the cot.

The trooper bowed and reported. "Lord Xanatos. We've picked up some anomalous readings at three of the power stations around the core. The engineers think they're simply residual backflow from using the gun before it was fully calibrated, but you told us to report anything that might be suspicious."

Xanatos had reclothed himself, fully covered again, nothing to give away what he was thinking or feeling except for the palpable air of threat and menace that always surrounded him. He simply nodded at the news before directing the trooper to stand guard outside the room. "No one is allowed in but me. If I were to find that anyone had... visited my prisoner without my approval, it would not be to the visitor's advantage. Eventually I'll share, but in the meantime, he is mine alone, am I clear?"

The trooper bowed again. "Yes, Lord Xanatos."

Obi-Wan had managed to get the torn pants back on while the trooper had given his report, but the tunic was beyond him, the cuffs in the way and the material too torn to be anything but a too thin blanket as he lay on the floor. The floor was cold even with that thin barrier, but he was too exhausted to sit or stand and unwilling to stay on the cot that was still damp, smelling of sweat, blood, and semen. He looked up when Xanatos approached him again, afraid that he had decided to stay after all, but all Xanatos did was kneel down in front of him, gloved hands tracing over Obi-Wan's face in the same pattern his bare ones had before.

He stood then, saying, "Sleep, boy. It'll make your wait for me to return go so much faster," and then he left, the trooper behind him, leaving Obi-Wan alone for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. He wanted to sleep, to escape the horror his life had become, to relieve the pain that seemed to touch every part of him and the emptiness the suppression cuffs only made worse. But he lay on the floor, cold and hopeless and fighting sleep because he could choose to.

~*~

When Mace had heard what the plan was, he'd cursed Qui-Gon, Yoda, and pretty much every other person in the galaxy he could think of, just for the hell of it. "You leaked a rumor that you had secret blueprints of the Death Star when you really didn't so that they would be looking away from the Death Star for the problem, thereby allowing you to sneak onto the highly secure and very likely to result in death if you're caught Death Star while they were distracted, only the droids that were your distraction got stolen by Jawas, leaving you no choice by to sneak onto the highly secure and even more very likely to result in death if you're caught Death Star while they're not particularly distracted at all? That's the plan?"

Qui-Gon had to give him that there were things here or there about the plan that could have used some work, but the rebels had only found out about the secret battle station long after it was already being built, and they'd had no real time to implement any better researched plan before the thing would become operational. Considering the screams he could still hear in his head, all that was left of a planet he'd lived on for almost fifteen years, Qui-Gon believed they really didn't have any choice. The battle station had to be destroyed or it would mean even more death and destruction would follow in its wake, and there was no way the Rebellion could win against those kind of odds. Not when the Death Star was completed and fully secured, anyway.

And even with Mace's justifiable disbelief that they'd get away with it, they had managed to secure the plans for the station as well as disable many of its external sensors, which would give them a better chance to escape should their ships' cloak fail, as Adi had calmly informed him it was prone to. And whether he'd fallen for the distraction of the droids or not, Qui-Gon's former apprentice was still obviously distracted, Qui-Gon only faintly registering his presence from time to time, easily hiding his own presence in the sea of lives that made up the crew, something he'd never have been able to do if Xanatos were properly focused. Whatever it was that had his attention, Qui-Gon was thankful for it.

Or at least thankful for it right up until the info dump his handheld comp had been filtering spit out the name of the prisoner Xanatos had been busy with.

It had been over thirty years since Qui-Gon had first met Xanatos. The boy had been eleven then, and so powerful in the Force that he'd shone with it. He'd also been the adopted son of a high ranking official on his home planet, being groomed for great things himself since he'd been little more than a baby. _Too old_ , the Council had told Qui-Gon. _Too enamored of the life he's living_ , Mace had said. _Turn he will_ , Yoda had predicted, that far away look in his eye that said he was seeing potential futures, something that the Qui-Gon of then had always discounted. Even Yoda had admitted that the future was too fluid to say for sure, and Qui-Gon's surety had been that the boy was too powerful to leave alone, and too obviously a match for the prophesy that had fascinated Qui-Gon since he'd first heard about it in the crèche.

He'd chosen to follow his own counsel rather than the others’, so sure in himself in a way that no one really ought to be. If he'd at least considered what they'd said then, he'd have noticed that Xanatos had never been resigned to the life of service that being a Jedi meant. He'd have noticed his apprentice's sense of entitlement and his growing anger over not getting his way, especially where Qui-Gon was concerned. But Qui-Gon couldn't believe the boy would see it as a betrayal when he couldn't get what he wanted, and Qui-Gon couldn't believe in the anger and bitterness that everyone else could see even though he lived with it, and Qui-Gon couldn't believe that _he'd_ been so wrong. And that had been his biggest mistake.

It wasn't really Qui-Gon who'd paid the price for it, though. Yes, he'd lost many friends to the Purge. Yes, he'd been assigned by Yoda to live on a morally backwards and environmentally hostile planet just to keep watch on a child Yoda thought _might_ play an important part some day. And, yes, he'd had to live with the knowledge that thousands upon thousands had died because of his overweening pride, and that millions upon millions more lived their lives in fear and want because of the changes to the galaxy that pride had helped set in motion.

But some part of Qui-Gon had still believed, deep in his heart where he barely could admit it even to himself, that maybe the whole disaster of Xanatos and the Empire and the misery that came with them might have actually been necessary; a part of the prophesy where balance would eventually be brought to the Force. That secret part of Qui-Gon had always thought, _wait, just wait. One day it will come._

When he made it down to the cell, the trooper on guard there neutralized before he'd even had a chance to register there was someone nearby, Qui-Gon thought he could already smell how wrong that secret part of him had been. Blood, sharp and metallic and redolent of Qui-Gon's failure, whispered softly to him even through the closed door. When the door opened, and he saw Obi-Wan lying on the floor, what had been done to him obvious in the bruises visible on his face and through the torn clothes that were hanging off of him, the smell of blood and semen unmistakable now, Qui-Gon knew, in every part of him, that he'd just been lying to himself all those years.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, only mild surprise on his face and far too little hope. "Teacher Dyas. Or should I call you Qui-Gon. It’s certainly the name your _other_ student calls you by."

Qui-Gon had known since he'd first seen Obi-Wan, three years old and all alone in the world, that the boy was supposed to be his apprentice. But by that time the galaxy had been reborn into what his former master and his former apprentice had made of it, and Qui-Gon hadn't really been willing to trust in his own perception of what the Force was telling him at that point.

Instead he'd distanced himself as much as he could from the boy, still following Yoda's command to protect him, but finding a family willing to take him in. He'd told himself it was for Obi-Wan's sake, but that was a lie as well. He'd just been scared of his own judgment, scared of trusting in an apprentice again. Afraid of being the only one responsible for training a boy who might be a hope for all their futures.

But would Obi-Wan be here now, beaten and raped and a better distraction than Qui-Gon could have ever flinched from when he was making his plan, if he'd taken in the boy as he should have? So strong in the Force that Qui-Gon had heard his screams even through the suppression cuffs he wore, thinking it was just leftover traces from Tatooine... how much stronger Obi-Wan would have been if he'd been trained properly? Maybe even enough to have avoided meeting Xanatos altogether.

Obi-Wan hadn't tried to get up, obviously exhausted, but seemingly unconcerned with how jagged and painful his voice sounded and how awkward their one-sided conversation was. "I hadn't known who he was talking about at first. Not until he pointed out how much my accent sounded like Qui-Gon's. And then he kept going on about how Qui-Gon had always put him off with excuses like how it would be wrong to sleep together since Qui-Gon was his teacher, and you always were a bit of a prude about that. And he was so sure I would be Qui-Gon's type, so absolutely sure... and it wasn't like you kept up that teacher excuse with me for all that long, did you?"

If Qui-Gon hadn't known the boy so long, he'd think Obi-Wan really was mildly amused with what he was talking about, but Qui-Gon could see the strain that always showed in Obi-Wan's eyes when he was upset. He could feel the pain that resonated along the bond that Qui-Gon had never let grow beyond a mild empathy, but that not even the cuffs could totally dampen. But while Qui-Gon could continue to berate himself for that pain, while he could sink to his knees and apologize in every way and still not make it right, none of that would help either of them right now.

He had spent years telling Obi-Wan to focus on what was and not to daydream about what might be, and now he was the one that sorely needed to listen to that advice. Later... later he could try to atone for his sins. Later he could try to make things at least a little more right for Obi-Wan. Later he could take the child, as old as he was and as angry as he'd now become, as his apprentice and teach him all the things he should have years ago, and Obi-wan being Obi-Wan and not Xanatos, he would learn. And together maybe they'd even bring the balance to the Force that everyone had paid far too high a price for.

But first they had to find a way off the station, and to find a way to escape from Xanatos, who might have missed Qui-Gon's presence because of Obi-Wan, but would certainly notice the two of them trying to leave together.

Careful of maybe aggravating his injuries, Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan up, draping his cloak around the boy. It was more like a tent on Obi-Wan's smaller frame, but Qui-Gon hoped it offered some comfort to have something familiar around him, and to be a little less exposed. He didn't answer any of the things Obi-Wan had been talking about, knowing it would take too long and that it could wait until they were back on Mace's ship, but he did say what he most needed to, and what he thought Obi-Wan most needed to hear. "My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. I'm here to rescue you."

He only got a small smile for that, Obi-Wan well used to Qui-Gon's humor after all these years. It was just one of the many things they had in common, but Qui-Gon counted that smile as a small victory all the same.

As eager as he was to leave, Obi-Wan didn't even get two steps beyond the cell before he collapsed, too exhausted to go on, but this time when he fell, Qui-Gon was there to catch him.

/story


End file.
